


i wished for you

by mm_nani



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Auba has a magical vagina in this, Daft Marco, Emre is a magical child, Friends to Lovers, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Just Buckets and Buckets of Emotions, M/M, The universe is meddling, ridiculously happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 19:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11168517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_nani/pseuds/mm_nani
Summary: Marco and Auba had drunkenly stumbled to Marco’s house and apparently fallen asleep together on his bed. As far as he can remember they were both men with penises back then, though he hadn’t personally checked this fact for Auba.-or a slow progression to Marco realizing that gender is but a social construct and everyone is just a little bit gay.





	i wished for you

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by my ever-suffering wife, Alex, who's comments were as usual crucial to giving me enough confidence to post. The story is from Marco's POV who has very heteronormative ideas of gender and sexuality. I tried my best to keep Marco's POV from reality separate though I suppose I could have done more exposition if I'd chosen Auba instead. Artistic license...I guess?
> 
> EDIT: For the Friends to Lovers June prompt at [Football Prompts Monthly](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/football_monthly)

Marco actually likes waking up sticky, sweat drying on skin, it usually means that he’s spent the night in the warmth of someone’s arms.

 

It also usually means he’s going to have to extricate himself from a stranger and not become awkward about a one night stand at some point soon.

 

But right now, within his hazy consciousness of the in-between of sleeping and waking up, this feels nice. He pulls his bedmate closer, places a soft kiss on her forehead and sighs at the feel of her soft breasts pressing against his chest.

 

He doesn’t really remember who he went to bed with, there’s a distinct lack of a hangover that should also worry him. But Marco is feeling a bone-deep contentment that he hasn’t felt in a while so he doesn’t really question it.

 

There are fingers gently soothing down his back and Marco idly dreams of breakfast and lazy morning sex.

 

The fingers stop suddenly and there’s a quiet gasp followed by a soft, _bro_

 

*

 

Last night Marco hadn’t gone to bed with anyone per say. Marco and Auba had drunkenly stumbled to Marco’s house and apparently fallen asleep together on his bed. As far as he can remember they were both men with penises back then, though he hadn’t personally checked this fact for Auba.

 

This doesn’t feel like any other miserable morning after a night of partying he’s ever had before. Marco is feeling energized, refreshed and happy.

 

Well, right this instance he’s very confused since his best friend is sitting in front of him in one of his sweatshirts thrown over the red boxer briefs Auba went to bed in last night, Marco is still just in his less flashy black boxers, blearily rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

 

He’s half hoping that he’s dreaming. It certainly wouldn’t be his first weird dream featuring Auba. Auba is just casually sprawled on his couch, hands rubbing over his crotch.

 

‘Are you- are you masturbating?’ Marco ventures to which Auba looks at him startled, he removes his hand from his crotch hastily.

 

‘No man, I’m just feeling I guess? Feels weird.’

 

‘Are you sure it’s gone?’

 

‘Yeah.’ Auba says and sighs.

 

‘What should we do?’

 

‘Go back to bed? Maybe I’m dreaming.’

 

‘Yeah. Okay.’

 

*

 

Marco wakes up feeling amazing again after his nap and he’s a little bit convinced it’s because he and Auba have somehow managed to spoon together again. He feels a little embarrassed as he flirts with the possibility of just not letting go.

 

Auba takes Marco’s hand resting on his stomach and pulls it up to rest over one boob over the sweatshirt. Marco squeezes on instinct and Auba sighs. Marco tries not to think about how perfectly it fits into his palm or how disappointed Auba sounds right now.

 

 _Like it was made for me_ Marco thinks unbidden and immediately slaps himself mentally. The inside of his head is acting really strange today.

 

‘Still real.’ Auba sighs again, ‘Marco,’ he whispers.

 

‘Yeah?’

 

‘You can let go now.’

 

Marco lets go of Auba’s breast hurriedly. He realizes that Auba might have meant overall letting go of him so he reluctantly does the latter too, a moment later.

 

Auba doesn’t move away when he does, only turns around and it’s Auba who puts his arm around Marco’s waist.

 

‘I think I’m freaking out.’ Auba says quietly, it’s then that Marco notices that Auba is very still, his breathing quiet but labored.

 

‘Shit, _shit._ Yeah. Okay - just-

 

*

They should probably be getting down to _why_

 

But they play football instead.

 

Auba shows off his dribbling skills in Marco’s yard, a fairly common sight. Marco watches the quick flicks of his foot, the way his arms are spread out maintaining his balance. He tries to pick out the differences in Auba’s figure.

 

Auba had seemed softer earlier in the morning light streaming through his curtains, somehow had felt smaller in his arms. But it feels like an illusion when Auba is playing lithe and sharp, his face scrunched up as the competitive side of him takes over, he towers above Marco as he whizzes past him to score.

 

Marco watches, forgetting that he’s supposed to be defending him. Auba screams _take that bitch_ and they both seem to startle at how his voice is just a shade higher than before. Auba initiates the hug before the uncanny can set in and he’s jumping into Marco’s arms like he’s done a million times before.

 

Things settle around them. If Marco hadn’t groped Auba in the morning - _more than once-_ then he wouldn’t even notice that the smiling face above his right now is somehow different from his best friend’s.

 

Once they’ve played football and scarfed down some scrambled eggs Auba seems a lot more excited at the prospect of being a girl.

 

‘Shit man.’ He exclaims for what seems like the hundredth time, ‘ _Shit’_

 

Marco is therefore the one making google searches and so far he’s mostly coming across transition stories.

 

‘Marco - _no -_ you need to stop reading that stuff man.’ Auba exclaims when Marco starts crying the third time.

 

‘I just- _I just didn’t realize how difficult -_

 

‘-I know bro- _I know_ ’

 

*

 

They find:

 

  1. a story about a man who eventually grow boobs after taking care of five children by himself
  2. an anime where a boy turns into a girl after falling into a cursed stream
  3. vague witchcraft stuff



 

*

‘Maybe we should get you a blood work up.’

 

‘We are _not_ going to the club physios’

 

‘But the boob dude-

 

 _‘Marco, my boobs just appeared they didn’t grow over the course of a month._ _ALSO-_

 

‘-your penis is gone, trust me _I remember._ ’

 

*

 

They decide to go out because they’re both getting hangry and scrambled eggs are basically the entire repertoire of Marco’s culinary skills.

 

Marco tries to drive straight to the cafe but he can feel the indignant screeching building up even before Auba is shouting at him.

 

‘I can’t go out in public, like this!’

 

Marco rolls his eyes before he turns to take the road to Auba’s house, doesn’t need the GPS at this point.

 

He pointlessly shouts at Auba to hurry it up and Auba sticks his tongue out.

 

Marco settles for raiding Auba’s kitchen for snacks because he knows there is no way that Auba can physically hurry up getting ready to go out.

 

Marco’s towards the end of the container of mixed nuts he found in a cupboard when Auba emerges from his bedroom looking like he stepped out of a fashion magazine.

 

_For women._

 

Instead of going the route Marco thought he was going to take, baggy clothes to hide his body, Auba is in a _sundress and straw hat._

 

It is light yellow with a small floral print, the kind of loose, knee-length dress that would billow poetically in a summer breeze, accessorized with a thick black belt tucked right under his chest, accentuating his breasts.

 

Marco is dumbstruck both with how _absolutely lovely_ Auba looks that it’s fucking with his mind a little and also with:

 

‘What the fuck, dude. Why do you own this?’

 

Auba looks at him solemnly, ‘In Gabon, every time a man makes love to a woman for the first time he gets to keep what she was wearing as a symbol of the deflowering process.’

 

Marco makes a noise of frustration at him.

 

*

 

Marco realizes belatedly that the waitress thinks they are dating.

 

Auba’s milkshake has two straws in it, the second of which Marco has shamelessly used already. Usually there’s just one and they both just use that one.

 

There’s also the telltale sign of the waitress enthusiastically reciting the virtues of their shareable dessert special called ‘Lover’s Delight’

 

Auba orders it without consulting him.

 

‘Dude, I think she thinks we’re _dating_.’

 

‘We are one attractive man and one attractive as-it-seems woman, alone together. _Everyone_ , including that gay couple in the table on the right, thinks we’re dating.’

 

‘What if this gets to the press? Fuck man, you’re even in BVB colors.’

 

Auba looks down at himself as though noticing for the first time. It’s actually not that uncommon. After playing for a club for a couple of years people start to naturally like their colors and start incorporating it into their personal wardrobe. Only Marco’s incredibly goth heart has him stick to a strictly black and grey wardrobe but even he has not managed to escape the occasional yellow accessory.

 

He looks at his yellow plastic wristband accusingly.

 

‘We’ll tell the press you’re dating my cousin or something.’ Auba says.

 

‘Man I don’t want to deal with girlfriend press right now.’ Marco lowers his voice when he sees their waitress approaching with the combination of their cakes and ice cream.

 

Auba shrugs, grabbing a spoon, ‘Better than boyfriend press,’ he says before swiping up half of a mini cake on his spoon.

 

*

 

They walk slowly to where the car is parked.

 

Marco scuffs his shoes against the pavement as Auba stops once again to admire a bird, squinting up into the light with his straw hat pulled down, the ends of his dress billowing in the summer breeze.

 

Marco isn’t sure what he’s stalling if he’s stalling anything, but he feels uneasy as he drives Auba back to Auba’s house and not his own.

 

‘We’re going to fix this,’ Marco says, wanting to reassure Auba that Marco will be there for him all through out, ‘I’ll go to the library later, check out some witchcraft books.’

 

Auba nods and puts his hand gently on top of his.

 

 _Were his fingers always that long and delicate?_ Marco thinks as he pulls into Auba’s driveway.

 

By the time Marco is back home he has a headache.

 

*

 

His head feels clouded so he takes two aspirin tablets and decides to work out.

 

Having completely forgotten about it in the morning’s madness, Marco finally has the time to appreciate the fact that he has the Pokal cup with him. He takes it with him to his home gym, unable to part with it once he’s noticed it. Marco tries to not care about trophies but it’s his _first_ and it’s at his house. He can’t help but savor that feeling.

 

Running helps him focus, the soreness building up in his muscles, narrows down the thoughts in his head to ones that really matter. So he runs, the Pokal glinting in the afternoon sun, as his mind hones in on the game, the exhilaration... _Auba._

 

Marco turns up the speed and he becomes swatches of feelings, crisscrossing with every intake of deep, measured breath. Just as he wants, Marco is unable to keep up a train of thought long enough to make a sentence or an argument. The image comes unbridled.

 

_Long, graceful legs crossed over each other, soft yellow fabric teasingly resting across smooth brown thighs, gently sliding up every time Auba moved._

 

Marco turns off the machine, stopping right in the middle of his run. He doubles over to catch his breathe.

 

He catches sight of the Pokal trophy, the green gem staring back at him. His headache intensifies.

 

*

 

Marco wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. He spent much of yesterday night venturing into underground witchcraft and sorcery forums and he’s been feeling a little spooked out.

 

He lowers the temperature on the air conditioning and washes his face. The headache he went to bed with comes back as he’s wiping up his face and Marco grumbles as he rifles through his medicine cabinet to find the leftover painkillers from his many injuries he keeps stashed for emergencies such as these.

 

He grabs a packet of freeze-dried fruit and munches on them as he looks for his TV remote. He gets a feeling that the Pokal is looking at him from his dining room table and brings up the edges of the tablecloth to cover it.

 

Marco finally settles on his couch, lounging as sleep claims him to the sound of the television keeping the eerie undercurrent of his too large house at bay.

 

*

 

He wakes to the sound of his doorbell ringing. His cameras show the familiar lambo parked outside his estate and he opens the gate without question.

 

Opening his door though and actually looking at his guests is a whole other level of surprise altogether.

 

There’s Emre Mor on his off day dressed in black cargo shorts, his Borussia Dortmund jacket thrown over his t-shirt in a classic example of the over-enthusiastic attachment of young hearts. He’s sinking under the weight of a giant backpack and with his naturally gifted doe-eyes, looks very much like an overgrown child.

 

He’s accompanied by someone who Marco can only describe as a supermodel, he’s seen and bedded enough of them to know, but given the lambo that he saw drive through his gates can only mean that it’s Auba.

 

Auba takes off his rounded sunglasses with a gentle flip of light brown curls reaching past his shoulders. He’s dressed in a different sundress altogether, white this time with giant red flowers curling around his waist and back, the straw hat is different too with a bright red flower to match his dress and his long legs are strapped to matching red heels. Emre looks comically tiny next to him.

 

It takes Marco a moment to register that greeting Auba with a gentle hand on his back and a kiss to his cheek would be a little weird and he stands around awkwardly unsure of how to greet him.

 

Auba takes the pressure of that decision away when he slaps him across the chest, enveloping him into a hug. His illicit painkillers must have worked at last because his head feels sharp and clear again and the air is fresh and light in his lungs.

 

The dress is soft under his palm and it’s thin enough that he can feel Auba’s warmth bleeding through. An inexplicable kernel of heat blooms across his chest and he holds Auba close, relishing the tingling sensation flowing across his body.

 

Emre clears his throat.

 

Auba lets go of him to wrap his arms around Emre’s shoulder, ‘My friend, I think Emre can help me.’

 

*

 

There’s kind of an inside joke that Emre is just a little...magical.

 

Except it’s not _too_ much of a joke since it’s kind of established that things go all sorts of right in the littlest of ways whenever Emre is around. They always get reservations at places no matter how popular or crowded something is, there’s always parking no matter how rush the hour is, closed counters at groceries always open up so they don’t have to wait in line, rain clears up if they have plans outdoors.

 

It’s always very small, coincidental things so it’s become a small superstition amongst the squad.

 

There’s also the other side where Emre, unknowingly, plays into this superstition with a seemingly bottomless bag full of his everyday necessities, change of clothes and a plethora of cure alls that one or other of his grandmother swears by.

 

Everyone, including Marco, has sample bags of teas that Emre hands out on a regular basis.

 

Currently, Emre has spread out a number of items on Marco’s dining table, there’s a myriad of things he doesn’t even recognize amongst at least 10 different kinds of gemstones, more tea, tree branches, dried leaves, _salt,_ and some plates.

 

‘So,’ Emre squeaks once he’s satisfied with his layout, ‘what’s the problem?’

 

‘How do I say this?’ Auba starts and then gestures with his fingers as though he’s trying to grasp at words, ‘I’m feeling... _different._ ’

 

Emre nods solemnly, ‘Okay, okay. I see. Different how?’ he asks waiting intently for the answer. Marco startles because Auba is in an actual girl’s body standing right in front of him and Emre seemingly just hasn’t noticed.

 

‘You could say...I’m having some trouble...sexually.’

 

‘I see.’ Emre says already reaching out towards one of the dried leaves.

 

Marco is absolutely certain that he’s losing his mind, if Emre can’t tell Auba’s breasts are real then he has no idea what Emre thinks Auba is doing in this garb.

 

‘Oh my God, Emre-’ Marco exclaims, ‘-the man’s penis has disappeared!’

 

*

‘So you’re a girl?’ Emre says after Auba recounts everything that has happened since he woke up in Marco’s bed. It’s not a very long story.

 

‘Well, I still very much feel like I’ve always felt so I haven’t so much as turned _into_ a girl as I now have a vagina.’

 

Emre squints his eyes like he’s trying to understand, to his credit though he hasn’t needed to extensively grope Auba for proof like Marco has.

 

‘Alright then, I’ll call my grandma.’ Emre says standing up with determination. Emre’s grandmothers have so far cured inexplicable fevers, sudden rashes and painful, persistent blisters within the squad.

 

They lounge around while Emre takes his call outside.

 

Marco has met plenty of women in his life, perfectly attractive women, with whom he has managed to be in the same room without ogling them.

 

He somehow can’t manage the same with Auba. In his defence, Auba is sitting close, half leaning against Marco’s shoulder as they watch TV. Auba’s exposed shoulder is right under his nose and Marco is distracted by how the muscles in his arm shift whenever he moves to get more comfortable.

 

At one point Emre walks in, picks up the plates and walks back out.

 

There’s a crash outside, the sound of the plates breaking. Both Marco and Auba are up in an instant to help Emre but he’s back inside the house before they can go outside.

 

Emre speaks with unfaltering certainty, ‘I’ve got some theories.’

 

They sit back down.

 

‘The obvious candidate is witchcraft, like a curse or something.’ Emre starts.

 

 _Of course that’s the_ **_obvious_ ** _candidate_ Marco thinks, not for the first time feeling like he’s losing his sanity.

 

‘I’ve started a de-cursing process with the plates. It works best at the beginning of the year but it will do for now, I’ll scope out your house for bad energy and cursed objects.’

 

‘Wait you really think someone would try to curse me?’ Auba says sounding hurt.

 

‘It was probably meant for Marco.’ Emre answers.

 

‘That’s reassuring.’ Marco says sarcastically.

 

‘Well it could also just be general magic.’ Emre says, not catching onto Marco’s skepticism.

 

‘As opposed to _special_ magic.’ Marco quips and Auba hits his shoulder, ‘Marco! He’s trying to help.’

 

‘Well general magic as in it’s from the universe, some form energy manifestation to fulfill a greater purpose.’

 

Marco looks at Auba expecting to have someone to roll his eyes with but Auba is only looking on with rapt attention.

 

‘‘A greater purpose to Auba’s vagina?’ Marco asks deadpan.

 

His sarcasm backfires again as Auba’s eyes go wide and the excitement permeates into Emre.

 

‘Yes, that’s precisely what this sounds like.’ Emre says and Auba is grinning devilishly, it would annoy Marco but he looks...really nice with that expression.

 

‘But-’ Emre continues, ‘-what could be the greater purpose of a vagina?’

 

 _‘The female experience.’_ Auba exclaims excitedly.

 

*

 

It isn’t the first time that Marco wonders, what he’s done wrong to end up in a squad with a fashion diva and a somehow legal Turkish child in a nightclub.

 

No girl is going to approach him with Auba standing next to him and he can’t very well start wandering around because he has to babysit Emre, who is excitedly looking over the cocktail menu.

 

Auba has managed to dodge all their questions and squeezed himself into the tiniest black dress known to man, the neckline is all criss-cross ropes and there are cuts on either side of his waist, revealing a perfect amount of skin that Marco- no, _not Marco_ \- a man or any person can hold.

 

It’s normal, Marco thinks, when Auba is more skin than dress, that Marco, or you know _any_ man would look at him.

 

‘If it’s sex you want to have.’ Emre says taking a sip out of his cherry martini, ‘I could do it you know, I could have sex with you.’

 

Marco chokes on his bourbon and Auba looks at Emre like he’s actually considering it before settling on, ‘maybe if I don’t luck out in 2 or 3 days but teammates are too messy.’

 

‘Really? When we played fuck, marry kill after the final you said you’d fuck _and_ marr-

 

Auba places his fingers on Emre’s lips to shush him, ‘gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.’

 

Emre nods like he understands. Marco has no idea what wavelength those two are on most of the time. It irritates him, that special wavelength that no one else can tap into? That’s his and Auba’s thing. But it’s gotten less exclusive recently with Ousmane, Emre and Raphael and it’s Marco who’s been feeling left out.

 

Finally someone approaches with a drink that Auba accepts with an open, flirtatious smile. Everything suddenly becomes white noise as the guy leans in to talk to Auba, Auba shifts shyly and fixes the band in his natural hair.

 

 _‘It’s difficult to have sex in a wig.’_ Auba had stated as though a tested fact when they were getting ready and Marco had wondered why he’d taken his wig from earlier off.

 

The guy follows the trail of Auba’s fingers with his own, pulling at the hair band teasingly. Auba  shifts his eyes down coyly and Emre has to snap his fingers in Marco’s face to get him to stop staring.

 

They eventually leave to dance and Marco finds it a little easier to breathe. Except a minute later, ‘wow, look at Auba go.’ Emre points out and Marco is caught in that trance again, hypersensitive to every one of Auba’s movements as though someone replaced the club’s music with a play by play narration.

 

Auba seems to be dancing not with one but two guys right now. One of them is definitely the one that asked him to dance. Auba’s hands are curled around the guys neck while the guy in turn has two hands placed over Auba’s waist where the cuts on his dress indicate the perfect placeholders. There’s another guy grinding behind Auba and Auba occasionally reaches back to hold him and sway their hips together.

 

Auba comes back eventually and says, ‘didn’t get a great vibe.’ shrugging his shoulders and stealing Marco’s drink.

 

‘That’s okay,’ Marco pats him on the back reassuringly, ‘you always have Emre.’

 

They look at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles.

 

‘Bitch.’

 

*

 

The night out turns to be extremely fun even though Auba doesn’t actually venture close to hooking up with anyone. The three of them dance together and Marco has to prevent Auba from calling the other guys to join them on more than one occasion.

 

Marco gets pretty drunk too and allows himself to touch Auba freely within the propriety of the dance floor. He’s not quite on Emre’s level who’s curled around Auba like they’re lovers and there’s not a wisp of space between their hips.

 

It’s up to Marco to ensure that everyone gets home safe. He hails a cab for Emre first because it’s easier to deal with. He gets Emre to stop hugging him, stuffs him into the taxi and pays extra for the driver to make sure that Emre actually walks inside his apartment.

 

Auba on the other hand is another dilemma. Usually Marco would be going home with whatever drunk, hot girl he’s with. At the very least to ensure that they’re safe if not to hook up with them himself (usually to hook up with them himself). But Auba isn’t a hot girl he’s _with_ , most of the time Marco doesn’t know if he can call Auba a girl to begin with.

 

He hails a cab deciding on using the same cab and seeing Auba to his door before heading home. Except Auba isn’t where he left him. He quickly closes the door of the cab and runs to Auba who’s travelled a few feet further and engaged in what seems to be the beginning of a brawl.

 

‘C’mon sweetheart you can’t leave after leading me on.’ A guy, no, _the guy_ that Auba danced with before is saying. He has Auba surrounded by a few of his friends. They’re mostly standing a little bit away but positioned to close in. Marco sees Auba push the guy away, but he’s back instantly with a hand reaching for Auba’s shoulder. Marco’s blood boils and he almost forgets that there are three other men to beat him up if tries to fight back. Marco grabs Auba’s wrist and pulls him back, quietly walking away from the guy and his grimy fingers.

 

‘I can do whatever I want, asshole.’ Auba shouts back at them just as Marco’s got them to a safe distance and he wants to shake Auba for doing something so stupid.

 

Like clockwork the guys follow them and now they’re actually surrounded by this guy’s three, albeit kind of scraggly, friends.

 

‘Who’re you?’ He spits out at Marco angrily and his cronies flex their arms a little.

 

‘Her boyfriend. Problem?’ Marco bites back. The guy narrows his eyes but backs down just a little before remembering.

 

‘No way, you are the loser that watched me take her dancing. Stop playing man. C’mon sweetheart-’ the guy continues with yet another attempt at holding Auba’s arm ‘-I’ll show you a much better time than this dried prune.’

 

Marco can feel Auba’s body tense up, ‘I said leave me alone,’ he enunciates slowly and Marco’s stomach curls up in mild terror. Even though Auba’s voice is higher now after his change, Marco recognizes the telltale signs of thunder crackling underneath his measured words. Auba’s mostly gentle and cheerful temperament means that whenever he does get angry, the earth cracks open with the force of his rage.

 

Marco takes a step away from the guy, pulls Auba closer, this time a hand curling possessively around Auba’s waist, hopes it’s enough of a grasp to keep Auba restrained.

 

The guy scoffs at the gesture and Marco raises his eyebrows in a challenge. The guy neither advances nor backs away and Marco can feel Auba’s fingers curl into a fist against his side. In all honesty, these guys look like an average group of sexist assholes instead of gangsters so Marco takes a calculated risk.

 

He uses his hand on Auba’s waist to turn him towards himself and uses his other hand to cup Auba’s cheek, pulling him into a kiss.

 

He means to keep it mostly chaste if not a little showy, one would argue sliding his hands down to Auba’s ass was not exactly necessary. But then Auba gasps as he does and Marco can’t help but slip his tongue in.

 

The guys have stopped surrounding them, or Marco’s stopped noticing that the universe consists of more than just him and Auba, beyond the slide of their lips and the curl of their tongues.

 

Auba’s hands slide from his shoulders and curls around his back, he gives himself to Marco and Marco forgets how to stop.

 

*

 

Auba is silent the entire ride home, their fingers laced between them. Auba doesn’t look at him and Marco feels like there’s acres between them whereas their bodies seemed inseparable outside the club.

 

The car takes them to Marco’s house. He’s nervous leading Auba up to the front door, what they’re about to do feels oddly final, like they’re walking towards a point of no return.

 

Auba walks through the door and pries off his heels before finally turning around to look at him.

 

Marco’s front door clicks shut behind him, and they look at each other for one long moment, the first since they stopped making out in front of the club.

 

Marco can see the hesitation in Auba’s eyes as he approaches him and pulls him towards his body. Marco’s reasoning slowly flickers out with Auba against him and it takes all the willpower he didn’t know he possessed to ask, ‘are you sure?’

 

*

 

Marco feels like he’s walking into a dream - Auba on his bed, shimmying out of his dress - a sight Marco can now admit he’s been longing to see all night, maybe longer.

 

Something soft blossoms in his chest as he climbs on top of Auba, his legs spreading out to make room for Marco between them. He rubs up and down Auba’s inner thigh, revels in the feel of Auba’s stomach fluttering against him.

 

Auba gasps out softly when Marco rubs him gently through his underwear, smearing it with wet heat.

 

‘C’mon, Marco. Don’t tease.’ He says and Marco kisses him silent, pushes three fingers right up against his entrance.

 

‘Ow!’ Auba says slapping his shoulders, ‘that hurt, asshole.’

 

Marco chuckles, kissing along Auba’s jaw, ‘I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Just -’ Marco doesn’t know what he looks like right now but Auba’s face relaxes when he sees him, his eyes incredibly tender, ‘-just let me have this. I don’t want to hurt you Auba,’ it feels like a promise bigger than the words that contain it, ‘So let me, let me take this slow.’

 

Marco is surprised when Auba doesn’t protest, let’s Marco slide his underwear off and rub him softly between his folds as they kiss.

 

Marco kisses down Auba’s chest and down until his tongue can slide in along his fingers.

 

‘I didn’t know you were so sappy.’ Auba says with gentle roll of his hips that pushes him harder up against Marco’s mouth. Auba moans when Marco’s response is muffled against his clit, he doesn’t seem to care what Marco is saying either way as Marco licks him closer and closer to climax.

 

Auba rides out his orgasm on Marco’s fingers as Marco climbs back up again, finally able to give his response, ‘ I am not sappy,’ Marco sulks, ‘I just need you nice and relaxed for-’ He lines himself up, pulling Auba’s thighs higher up his back.

 

-Auba lets out a shocked breath when Marco slides in halfway.

 

‘It’s your first time whether you like it or not.’ Marco says as he grinds softly, allowing Auba to adjust.

 

‘It doesn’t hurt.’ Auba grits out.

 

‘Yeah?’ Marco says, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

 

‘Yeah.’ Auba lets out the breathe he’s been holding when Marco slides all the way in, he shifts up so that they’re impossibly close and Marco rubs his back soothingly, ‘it’s just a little bit weird, isn’t it?’ Auba says shakily.

 

‘A little weird?’ Marco says as he sets up a slow pace, sliding halfway out before sliding back in.

 

‘Yeah I mean, this is not how I usually have sex, with a vagina and my best friend.’

 

‘Fair.’ Marco says before he starts to fuck Auba in earnest, making it so that Auba can’t talk or think beyond Marco inside him for a very long time.

 

*

 

When Marco wakes up he’s suddenly giddy with the knowledge that he can _touch_ now. He cups a breast in his palm, squeezing gently. Auba makes a noise in his sleep and Marco, encouraged rubs his nipple into hardness before shifting his attention to the other breast.

 

Auba is moaning now, only slightly awake at this point, ‘Marco, please…’

 

Marco slides his hand down to where Auba is starting to get wet. He doesn’t waste time and rubs his palm roughly against Auba’s clit. Auba gasps and turns to lie on his back so Marco can have better access.

 

Auba is looking at him sleepily but he’s biting his lips and arching into Marco in the most delicious manner. Auba’s body tenses in the telltale signs of an orgasm and Marco thinks of mornings to come.

 

Marco eventually pulls his fingers out as Auba relaxes against the bed. He can’t help but press a kiss to Auba’s cheeks before getting up, ‘Good morning.’ He whispers and Auba pulls him in for a proper kiss before letting him go.

 

Marco thinks distantly how mornings after with your male best friend shouldn’t feel like the honeymoon phase of a relationship, even if said best friend has a vagina. But it’s a little difficult to feel anything beyond how fantastic and invincible he feels. It’s more than just the simple satisfaction of getting laid, he feels like nothing can go wrong. That feeling doesn’t dissipate as he goes through his morning routine, his hair falling perfectly into shape when he dries it, the sweats he’s looking for is right on top of his drawer so he doesn’t have to dig, the toast comes out perfect, the butter is soft, the cereal doesn’t spill out of its container and when Auba emerges from his bedroom wearing one of his tank tops and boxers, Marco knows what he’s doing after breakfast, or rather _who_ , for the rest of the day in fact.

 

He leans against the kitchen counter and pulls Auba to him. He comes easily, leaning into Marco and it’s wonderful how they fit together so perfectly.

 

‘No fair,’ Marco says sliding his palm up Auba’s back, underneath his tank, ‘you know guys find it irresistible when you wear their clothes.’

  
Auba hums, curling his fingers in the short hairs on Marco’s nape, ‘I don’t know about _guys_ , but I  do know what _you_ find irresistible.’

 

‘Yeah?’

 

‘Yeah.’ Auba says kissing him softly.

 

‘Like what?’

 

‘I could let you fuck me in your tank-’ Auba says against his ear, ‘-or in your jersey after a match when it still smells like you and sweat and dirt’

 

...that is very accurate. Marco thinks he’ll regret challenging Auba to listing out his kinks.

 

‘Or in heels-’ Auba says kissing down his jaw ‘-or in my lace underwear, when you just pull it aside instead of taking it off-’ their hips are now slowly grinding together ‘-I’d let you Marco even if it means stretching out my favorite kind of underwear.’

 

And because Marco is too secure in how things won’t go wrong, he goes with the first thought that comes in his head without a single consideration for what it might mean for his chances at getting laid later, ‘about that, why do you own so many clothes for women?’

 

Marco holds him close with the hand on Auba’s back so he can’t move away.

 

Auba smiles mischievously, ‘In Gabon-

 

‘-can you tell me the truth. Please?’ Auba looks genuinely scared now, ‘you know I’ll love you no matter what, right?’

 

It’s a dangerous thing to say straddling the in between of romantic and platonic that they’ve been doing so far but something must reassure Auba because he gives in, ‘I do this sometimes, this crossdressing thing. Sometimes I do drag.’

 

Marco thinks back to how Emre didn’t notice that Auba had a female body, ‘Emre knows this?’

 

Auba looks down at Marco’s chest, ‘Yeah, well Ous and Emre came to a show.’

 

‘You do shows?’ Marco says as evenly as he can manage, he has to struggle to keep his eyebrows lowered, rubs Auba’s back so he’d look up at him.

 

‘It was an amateur showcase,’ Auba says shyly and Marco has to suppress the urge to whine about being left out. There’s a kernel of hurt there, amidst the surprise, that Auba hadn’t felt safe enough to tell him.

 

‘Will you let me come to the next one?’

 

Auba finally looks up.

 

They look at each other and it seems as though Auba is trying to gage whether Marco is serious and that hurts a little too, like he’s somehow let Auba down.

 

Finally Auba brings their foreheads together and Marco feels him nodding against him, feels him melting into him as they kiss.

 

Emre calls then.

 

And just like that the dream ends.

 

Marco puts the call on speaker so that he doesn’t have to let Auba go or even stop kissing him occasionally.

 

‘Marco? Do you know where Auba is, he’s not picking up his phone.’

 

They look at each other, silently giggling, Marco challenging Auba to speak up.

 

‘Hi Emre, I’m here at Marco’s place with Marco. We-um-we came home together.’ Auba says and Marco has to muffle his laughter into Auba’s neck, tickling him and sending him into his own fit of laughter.

 

‘Ah, right. Cool, then. So I think I figured out what caused the transformation.’

 

‘Yeah?’

 

‘Yes, well I don’t know for sure but usually the universe can store it’s magic in objects, that’s the only way there would be enough magic to just change someone’s biology. And old objects, certain kinds of objects like precious metals or gemstones are particularly good at storing energy. So…’

 

‘So?’ Auba urges.

 

‘I think it’s the Pokal. I felt strange when I lifted it even though I didn’t think much of it back then, with what happened to Auba I really think that the Pokal is a magical object’ Emre says fast like he expects to be ridiculed, Both Marco and Auba look at the trophy. Marco now keeps covered with a sweater because it creeps him out. It’s probably easier to believe than any other alternative that Emre could have provided.

 

But Emre continues his frantic explanation ‘Not only is it old and has a gemstone, it’s just at the centre of so much, hoping, dreaming and prayer, it would be weird if it _weren’t_ a powerful magical object, you know?’

 

‘Okay.’

 

‘I really- wait, okay?’

 

‘Yeah okay. But now what? How does Auba turn back?’

 

‘Well we could drain the Pokal out of magic, which might be harder than the other option.’ Emre trails off.

 

‘Which is?’

 

‘Fulfilling the wish. The universe’s purpose for Auba’s vagina.’

 

It hits Marco that Auba’s already had sex.

 

Auba’s previous explanation to understand the female experience seemed bullshit enough to begin with. But now there’s no explanation and Marco feels a little terrified. Auba is completely stiff in his arms, his face pale and Marco lets go when Auba pulls away.

 

‘Auba listen, we’ll figure it out.’ Marco says, desperate for the words to not sound hollow. He tries to get a grip on Auba’s arm but Auba shakes him off, ‘Auba, we can make a list. You can have more sex, with other people, maybe women this time. Were you mean to a lesbian?’

 

‘Marco.’ Auba finally says and Marco falls silent, pinned by Auba’s gaze, ‘It’s not the universe, Marco. It’s me, my wish.’

 

‘You wished to be a girl?’

 

Auba shakes his head, ‘When we won, I was so happy, _so_ happy. I thought that’s all I’ve ever wanted but then we held the cup together and I saw you, the only thing I could think was how the cup was just a thing and that I didn’t want _things_. I just wanted-’ Auba cuts himself off.

 

‘What did you want?’ Marco says softly, tries to approach him again. Auba is agitated and he just wants Auba to calm down and process.

 

‘Don’t you see, Marco? I gave up my entire life, I gave up _football_ for-

 

‘-you don’t have to. If you don’t turn back we can work with the physios, you can wear a binder, if you hadn’t woken up next to me naked, I wouldn’t have even noticed, no one has to know, no one will find out.’

 

‘My voice? My sudden inability to grow a beard? The physios will just buy that the universe gave me a vagina?’

 

‘That’s not what- we can drain the Pokal’s energy then.’ Marco says grabbing hold of Auba’s hand so he would stop pacing. It works because Auba stands still but he sounds absolutely defeated, ‘Marco, I need to be alone. Maybe I can convince the universe that I don’t want what I thought I wanted.’ He tries to break out of Marco’s hold but Marco stops him again.

 

‘Auba...what did you wish for?’ He says softly.

 

Auba looks between them for one nerve wracking moment.

 

‘Not this.’

 

*

 

Marco’s head feels like it’s going to split open.

 

It takes everything to not down his entire stash of illegally stored painkillers at once but when the first two don’t make any difference, he just _knows_ what’s causing this. Especially since, it seems to get impossibly worse when he pulls the sweater off the Pokal and takes the cup in his hand.

 

He’s sweating uncontrollably and in no condition to drive. But he _needs_ to see Auba, so he calls a car and hobbles to it, doubled over in pain. He doesn’t camouflage the pokal well since it’s just tucked into his sweatshirt. The driver thankfully keeps his professionalism and doesn’t say anything but that might also be because Marco looks like he’s about to pass out any second.

 

At least that’s how he feels.

 

He tries to call Auba but doesn’t get through, the beeping hurts, his phone screen hurts, the passing streetlights hurt. And through all that all he can think about is holding Auba, seeing him smile again, erasing that awful, _awful_ hurt expression from his face forever. Thinking about Auba seems to be the only thing giving him enough focus to place one foot in front of the other.

 

He rings the doorbell continuously because even when he’s leaning against the doorframe it is difficult to keep standing. There’s loud cursing and then Auba emerges looking like he’s run a marathon with how much he’s sweating and panting. Just looking at him clears his head a little. Marco drops the Pokal unceremoniously to the floor before pulling Auba in and pushing their foreheads together.

 

Almost instantly, his headache clears and he can breathe easier again, his breathe is still heavy and Auba feels almost feverishly warm in his arms. Auba let’s out a breathe like someone just released him from a chokehold.

 

‘That was weird.’ Auba says, laughing a little, chances taking a step back. The headache doesn’t come back but Marco feels a little sick watching Auba put distance between them.

 

‘You weren’t the only one who held the Pokal and felt like your happiness was hollow, that your goals were superficial. I don’t know what _you_ wished for but I do know what _I_ wished for.’ Auba’s breathing has evened out and he looks a little shocked. Marco wants to laugh because it happened in _his_ house and no one, including himself, cared what _his_ opinions were on the matter. ‘I wanted for the happiness to feel real, I wanted someone to take the Pokal home to and I’m sorry it took a magic vagina for me to say this or even admit this but you’re the first person I call when I’m happy and you’re the first person who knows when I’m sad. I always want to be next to you and sometimes it confuses me just how much I _want_.’

 

He risks reaching out for Auba, his cheeks burning. But Auba reaches back, cards his beautiful, long fingers through his hair like he’s done a million times before and like always it comforts Marco, ‘I want endless mornings with you, and a house and kids, I want to drive you to training and I want you to drive me back, I want anniversaries and awful, stressful Valentine’s Days that you probably don’t care about anyway. I wished for something real and that-’ Marco looks up at Auba’s face, inches away from his, Auba’s fingers are curled into the short hairs at his nape and Marco feels the adrenaline rush through him preparing him for this one moment, like the few seconds before taking a penalty, ‘-means I wished for you.’

 

Auba inhales sharply, ‘I-

  
Marco feels a sudden hot flush run through him, his vision blurring for a second in a head rush, his balance wavers and when he comes to, Auba is on the floor looking dumbstruck, his hands wandering on his body, palms running down his now flat chest.

 

-wished for you too.’ Auba finishes and starts laughing. Marco can’t wait for Auba to get up so he joins him on the floor, falls into him, feels them fit together, the outline of Auba’s cock nestled against his hip. _Perfect._

 

‘Good.’

**Author's Note:**

> I am so grateful you made it till the end. Congratulations! I love to hear back from you! Comments and kudos are my fuel and saving grace. I'm on [tumblr](https://manaholic-mongolian.tumblr.com/). It's a good place to stay updated on my upcoming works. I'm working on a Carraville oneshot rn and then I'll come back to Pierreus - I have two AUs in mind already. I'm always taking Pierreus related prompts.
> 
> EDIT: I wrote a friends to lovers and then realized it fit the monthly prompt thing which worked out!


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